Some things seen and heard

Since we're leaving New York for real (I think) next Monday, I've been walking around with a heightened appreciation of the city.

West Village street, from Wikipedia Commons

On Tuesday I went down to the West Village and SoHo. I almost decided while I was there that if I ever move back here, I want to live in the West Village. It's so full of Italian eateries! One pasta shop that I went to, Raffetto's, was even closed for Ferragosto, the Italian holiday month. I stopped by Rocco's bakery and passed a Grom (an upscale gelateria that originated in Torino). And that was just a small sampling.

But even though Bleecker Street is full of Italian food, the old, tree-lined streets of the Village look distinctly American, perhaps Bostonian. Combined with the funky gift shops, they remind me of my other hometown (or one of them), Athens, Georgia. I stopped and looked at exquisite pottery, much of it Asian, in Global Table. I don't care much for the touristy, mall-like main thoroughfares on Prince and Spring in SoHo, but I like the side streets.

I wandered so far east on our math tutor Steven Tenney's recommendation that I went almost all the way to the Lower East Side. Eventually I rested my tired feet in McNally Jackson bookstore on Prince near Mulberry Street. McNally Jackson has an instant press for self-published or out of print books, and a sizable collection of new fiction. Among the various signs I saw posted in the store was:

"Alphabetized by author, or by subject if subject's fame exceeds the author's."

Ouch. Wouldn't you be mortified if your book were shelved by subject?

I also saw this book title: The Atlas of Remote Islands: Fifty Islands That I Have Never Set Foot on and Never Will.

I'm so glad that there are some left. By all means, let's stay off of them!

Unfortunately I had to skip Pylones, a funky gift store, but that was okay because I know there's one in the Porta Nuova train station in Torino. And I also, reluctantly, passed by Sur La Table. With extraordinary discipline (or maybe just tired feet), I ceased window shopping and walked all the way back to Houston Street, where I got on at the front of the comfortable old 1 train.

There, sitting in the seat across from me, was a pro-wrestler-looking sort of fellow wearing a T-shirt that read, "Boston Sucks." He was reading a subway tabloid and had one of those hand-strengthening devices in his cooler pack.

No sooner had I read his shirt than a second man walked onto the train. He, too, had an outer-borough look, and his shirt read, "Philadelphia Rocks." He had to pass right by the first guy to get to a seat.

"Nice shirt," muttered Mr. Not-Boston.

"Thanks," mumbled Mr. Philadelphia in the same macho growl.

They were both asleep by Penn Station.

Other people stories: There's a guy who puts bookmarks in all the local stores, at least on the Upper West Side, that say, "Dan Smith will teach you guitar." Once we looked him up, incredulous that someone would go to so much trouble to advertise a trade that's usually word-of-mouth. Indeed, he does teach guitar. So far as I can tell, he's not hoping for fame as a rock star or second Andres Segovia, with guitar teaching as the publicity vehicle. It's all guitar-teaching.

A couple of weeks ago during my visa flurry, I was FedExing my marriage certificate to Georgia to be apostilled, and an employee walks into the copy shop saying, "Some guy wants to know if he can put bookmarks in your store." I just happened to be walking out, and there was Dan Smith, looking exactly like he does in the ads, with the exact same expression. If I hadn't expected a human, I would have thought he was a cardboard cutout.

The other local persona I met this week was Hani, the guy who does the sidewalk chalk paintings. I found him squatting on Broadway between 106th and 107th, chalking in Margaret Thatcher. I decided to tell him about election night.

"Hi. You know those drawings you did of Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton during the election?" I ventured.

He nodded.

"On election night, I saw someone drop to the ground and kiss the drawing of Obama. She was crying."

"That's a great story!" he replied.

All of New York is a great story.